When the women before her had finished their purchases and turned to leave, Mrs. Rutledge reached out her hands toward Cecilia, motioning her closer. “Lady Branstoke! You should not have waited!”
Cecilia laughed as she shook her head in denial. “I was not always a titledLady. For eight years I was married to a merchant. I am no better than anyone else.”
“Oh! And how is it you are now married to Sir James?” Mrs. Rutledge asked, her face bright with inquisitiveness.
Cecilia belatedly realized she should never have mentioned her first marriage, for Mrs. Rutledge was now on the hunt for information she could pass on to others. “He died, and a year later, I met and married Sir James,” Cecilia said simply, hoping to divert more questions about her. “Lady Aldrich told me you make some biscuits that are perfect for a teething baby. Do you have any today?”
“I have four left. They are about a week old; however, these biscuits last at least a month if kept away from bugs.”
“I should like to get one for my son, Hugh, to see how he takes to them.”
“Is he starting to fuss and drool?” Mrs. Rutledge asked.
“Yes.”
She nodded wisely. “How old is he now? Six months?”
“Almost. Mrs. Jones gave me a salve for his gums, which I am almost out of. I do need to find something else to help him.”
“Right shame about Mrs. Jones. Fallen down that cliff. —Didn’t you find her?”
“Sir James did.”
“Is it true she were still alive when he went down the cliff to her?” Mrs. Rutledge leaned forward across the sales counter to ask.
“Yes, though she passed soon after,” Cecilia told her.
“Did she say why she done it?”
Cecilia frowned. “Done it? Done what?”
“Why she kilt herself,” Mrs. Rutledge said, rocking back on her heels.
“Where did you get the idea she killed herself, Mrs. Rutledge? She did not kill herself; the inquest jury was unanimous at that.”
She shook her head. “They would say that with the vicar there. Everyone knows she gave that horrid potion to Miss Inglewood to rid herself of the babe she bore.”
Astonished at the depth of belief the baker held as to Mrs. Jones’ culpability, Cecilia’s mouth fell open as she placed her hands on her hips. She drew herself up, as if she could make her diminutive self taller.
“Mrs. Rutledge, I must protest. Mrs. Jones turned down her request for a potion and had none of the ingredients in her house. I am horrified at the gossip being spread to that effect.”
Mrs. Rutledge looked uncomfortable, her lower lip pouting forward. “But she did take her own life. Why would she do that if she were not guilty of something like killing Miss Inglewood?”
“Mrs. Rutledge,” Cecilia began again with a calmness she was far from feeling, “Mrs. Jones did not commit suicide. I saw her position down the cliff, and it was not the position of a person who has committed suicide,” she said emphatically. “You must tell whoever is speaking these untruths to stop. A better topic for gossip would be to know who is trying to defame Mrs. Jones and what would be their reasons. Are they the ones who acquired the pennyroyal Miss Inglewood took?”
Mrs. Rutledge’s shoulders rolled back. Cecilia swore she could almost see the new possibilities for gossip shift through her mind.
Behind her, another villager entered the bakery shop. Cecilia recognized her as the stable owner’s wife, Mrs. Broadbank. “Did you say ‘pennyroyal’? Isn’t that a type of mint?” the woman asked.
Cecilia turned toward her. “I wouldn’t know about that,” she admitted. “However, pennyroyal can be highly poisonous.”
She scowled. “Poisonous? Are you certain?”
“Yes!” Cecilia returned. “It is one of those plants that can have healing properties, but has to be treated carefully, or it is a poison.”
Mrs. Broadbank frowned. “I shall have to tell my Marty.”
“And why is that?” Cecilia asked.
